Two Ways Of Looking At It
by haveyouseenmyhaggis
Summary: Despite sitting outside in the morning sun, to McCoy it seems the sun has collapsed. That's what Jim was to him.


**Title: Two Ways Of Looking At It**

**Summary: Despite sitting outside in the morning sun, to McCoy it seems the sun has collapsed. That's what Jim was to him. **

**Author's Note: Something I feel better for writing just 'cause it was something I had to write. Kinda angsty.**

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Eleven fifty-five, McCoy's watch tells him. Five to twelve or eleven fifty-five; two ways of looking at it. He prefers the latter. To him seems further away from twelve o' clock and that's what he desperately wants. He's not sure how he'll feel when his watch displays midday. Vaguely he wishes he was a time traveller and could reverse time – rewind every clock just so he could make things right. Change something. Anything. As if it were a film, cut the scene and retake. If only someone had shown him the film before it had been completed and launched. He knows exactly what changes he'd have made; he'd write a typical happy ending. The lead character would be able to save the man he loved and they could stay together.

Eleven fifty-six. Despite sitting outside in the morning sun, to McCoy it seems the sun has collapsed. Even in the warm San Francisco sunlight, all he feels is a deep and all-encompassing cold. He'd tried to fend it off by putting on a jacket and sipping warm drink but he's learnt there are some cold feelings strong coffee just won't cure. Not even drowning his feelings in alcohol in a shoddy back street bar bring warmth to his life again. The sun in the sky is not the one he wants. He wants the man that his life orbited around back. That's what Jim was to him. He hated to admit but, dammit, he loved him. Like some human burning ball of fire, Jim shone in his life, occasionally hurting him but never meaning to; occasionally vanishing but never for very long… much like the sun, McCoy reflects as he sits on the grass outside the Star Fleet base on Earth, pulling grass up at its roots.

Eleven fifty-seven. His stomach clenches slightly and he curses himself for getting so upset again. Time has passed. He should move on. He should have accepted this. If only this was a dream. He'd wake up about now. He'd awaken frightened and upset but all he'd have to do was look over and then he'd see the man he loved lying beside him, sound asleep in that goddamn cute way he does. If only he knew how to end this nightmare.

Eleven fifty-eight. He clenches his fists and his face darkens into a sullen mask. Maybe the ambassador was giving a long speech about handing over the Captaincy of the ship. He could imagine the other officers sitting in the audience smiling and saying how well the new guy had done. He wondered how many of the _Enterprise _crew were actually at the ceremony. How many of them would be able to watch someone they knew nothing about take over from someone they cared about?

Eleven fifty-nine. He'd never be able to sit in the Captain's quarters just to think about Jim again. He'd have nowhere to go to remember his lover. They hadn't recovered the body so they had no official burial place. The memorial ground Star Fleet had erected a plaque in meant nothing to McCoy. There was nothing of Jim there. To him, all the place meant was death. After the memorial service, he'd stood in the grounds while several other people said they could "feel Jim there" with them. He, however, couldn't feel anything. There was nothing of Jim Kirk there at all. Nothing.

Twelve. Midday. McCoy's heart skips a beat when the numbers on his watch change again. He takes a deep breath and curses under his breath. The _U.S.S Enterprise _would be under a different captaincy now. Someone else was in charge. McCoy hates the idea of someone that wasn't Jim being in command of the vessel. It belonged to Jim. Jim was the _Enterprise _and the _Enterprise _was Jim. But now he was gone. Or maybe his young lover was somewhere else waiting for him and rolling his eyes at him for being such a damn baby over this whole affair. Gone or waiting; it was just two different ways of looking at it. McCoy preferred waiting.


End file.
